


My Friends, My Friends Forgive Me

by owlways_and_forever



Series: The Mischief They Create [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death of the Potters, First War with Voldemort, Godric's Hollow, Heartbreak, Regret, potter house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/pseuds/owlways_and_forever
Summary: Peter walks through the Potters' cottage after Voldemort's visit and sees the destruction his actions have wrought
Series: The Mischief They Create [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1888561





	My Friends, My Friends Forgive Me

Peter stepped across the threshold of the house. There were scorch marks on the wall creeping down the stairs, and the carpet in the living room was slightly singed as well. He stepped carefully, as though he were concerned that their ghosts might rise from the floors and strangle him. He didn’t really know why he had come here, except that he felt a profound aching that he couldn’t seem to shake. **There was a grief that filled him that he couldn’t put into words**.

There, in the living room, that was were he had sat with his friends, as they had _t_ **alked about revolution** and made plans. They had a vision, **they could see a world reborn** that Peter couldn’t begin to imagine. They wanted to set the world on fire, and **it was in this room that they lit the flame**. 

Peter kept walking, passing into the kitchen. There was **the table in the corner** , and he could see the ghosts of maps and blueprints they had spread out across it once upon a time. He could **hear their voices ringing** as they clamored to speak over each other, excitement bubbling over their newest assignment. **He could hear them still,** as clearly as if they sat at that table now. **But the chairs were empty, the table bare.**

He continued his tour of the cottage, each new room pushing the knife of grief deeper into his heart. There were ghosts in every corner, **phantom faces in the windows, wraith-like shadows across the floor.** If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that he was not the only one walking through the house.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Peter gasped for air, feeling as though his heart had been shredded to pieces. He felt like he was drowning; the guilt and anguish washing over him in a tidal wave a thousand times stronger than he had ever felt before. He sank to the floor under the weight of it, tears streaming down his cheeks. **_Forgive me,_ ** he thought to himself. **_I’m so sorry, forgive me. I shouldn’t be here, not when you are gone. I don’t deserve to be the one alive._ **

Peter let out a low wail as his pain enveloped him. What had he done? He never wanted this to happen, he never wanted to hurt anyone. He just couldn’t understand the point of fighting against an unstoppable force. Wasn’t it better to just accept your fate than to keep fighting in vain? People were only dying because they were fighting back, if everyone just conceded, wouldn’t things be better? The war would end and people would be less afraid. And that was all he had wanted, for everything to _stop_. He wanted his friends to stop dying. He knew they were willing to die to change the world, but he didn’t want them to; he wasn’t ready for that. And why should he be? Why should any of them live only twenty one years just because the world wasn’t perfect?

And even now, **what was their sacrifice for?** The Dark Lord might be gone, but was anything else really different? Hearts and minds don’t change overnight, and his defeat wouldn’t mean that people stopped believing what they did. They were dead, and the world wasn’t going to change. It was going to go on, his own personal hell hole, horrible and unfair, and without them. He never wanted to be without them.

Anger boiled through him suddenly like dragon fire. This wasn’t his fault - the blame belonged with Snape. He should have never opened his mouth about that damn prophecy. _He_ was the reason Peter’s friends - his _family -_ was dead. The git was probably dancing on their graves too, not a shred of remorse in his body.

Peter slumped to his knees against the charred wall and closed his eyes, his lids fluttering slightly over the tears. He needed to leave, he couldn't bear the heartbreak any longer. The anger he had felt toward Snape had fled as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the sound of his torment echoing in his ears. He wanted it to go away desperately. 

Stumbling, he fled the cottage, his feet carrying him as fast as possible through the fog, his tears blurring the world around him. How apt. A metaphor, really. Grief made everything else recede into the background so that the only thing that was in focus was the pain one felt. **Pain that seemed to go on and on forever.** His mind, body, and whatever remained of his soul was consumed with despair. Peter wondered if it would ever stop, or if he would feel this acute ache for his entire life. He came to a stop in an alleyway, leaning against the brick wall and sliding down until he crouched on the ground. His hand trembled as he raised his wand to his head, thinking the words over and over. Peter could end it all right now, and then the pain would fade into a blissful numbness. How nice it would be to just… stop. 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and sniffed, his breaths short as the killing curse was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't utter the words; he betrayed even himself now. He laughed bitterly, his fingers tearing at his hair as he dropped his wand to the ground. Perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps that was the price he should pay for the role he had played in his brother’s death. Never ending sorrow, immutable pain. That was his punishment.

But there was one thing he could do. Peter knew he was a coward as he did it, but it didn’t matter. He wished he had the courage to face his pain, but he had always been a coward, why try to change now? He felt things less when he was transformed, his human emotions tucked away in some distant corner of his mind. So perhaps if he stayed in his rat form long enough, the pain would have subsided. He could wait it out. Courage may not be one of his virtues, but patience he had in spades. 

**Author's Note:**

> HP Houses Challenge  
> Round 4 Drabble  
> Prompt: [Song] Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables


End file.
